


Confessional

by kealin



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 02:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4203693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kealin/pseuds/kealin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ah, but they traded little words since Fenris’ departure that night three years ago, and the uneasiness of things left untouched sparked in the air between them whenever they were around one another—a mistake, a part of Fenris’ mind whispered even as another denied it as such. Something heavy twisted itself within his gut at the sight even though he had been the one who had walked away, who had ended anything before it had the chance to begin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessional

The waves crashed loudly on the cliff below them and Fenris found himself looking out over the expanse of the sea on the horizon. The others were still collecting loot from the fallen slavers they had stumbled upon. Isabela’s voice was loud and clear as she educated Sebastian on the intricacies of plundering bodies that no longer needed their worldly possessions.

“I am more than happy to show you another way of plundering, if you’d like,” Fenris heard her offer as Varric laughed. When Sebastian declined, the pirate chortled, “Ohh, you thought of something dirty, didn’t you? I was going to suggest a game of Wicked Grace.”

Whatever else transpired between the trio was lost on Fenris as he continued to look out towards the sea. The scent of salt prickled at his nose as the cold wind caused goosebumps to form along the exposed flesh of his arms. It was unpleasant, yet inviting in a way that he could not describe, and he found himself lost in thoughtlessness, finding respite at the empty view before him.

And it was respite, indeed, from thoughts that plundered his mind in ways that were far from pleasant. Blind, twisted hate ebbing into dark anger that, recently, coiled itself into thoughts of warmth, of light, and a feeling of home he had never believe he could ever come to know. All of it blooming from—

(Calloused hands tracing up his skin, almost impossibly gentle, a mouth along his neck, deep voice murmuring for him to slow down, to be patient, to allow himself to feel pleasure instead of focusing his attention on pleasing his partner. Senses overwhelming him, heat around the ache between his legs, strong hands gripping his thighs, a voice calling his name almost in reverence as he finally cried out.)

“-ris? Fenris?” Hawke’s voice reached his ears as the mage approached him.

Jerking from his thoughts, Fenris turned from the sea, the back of his neck heated in memory as he looked guiltily up at the taller man.  

Hawke smiled tentatively, lip quirking at the corner as he stopped before Fenris. He raised his shoulder in a careless shrug that spoke clearly of his uncertainty in approaching the elf. Ah, but they traded little words since Fenris’ departure that night three years ago, and the uneasiness of things left untouched sparked in the air between them whenever they were around one another—a mistake, a part of Fenris’ mind whispered even as another denied it as such. Something heavy twisted itself within his’ gut at the sight even though he had been the one who had walked away, who had ended anything before it had the chance to begin.

A mistake. A foolish, reckless mistake, and yet one that would not leave him in peace.

But Hawke was speaking and whatever inner turmoil that rolled itself within Fenris seemed unimportant as his ears twitched briefly to catch Hawke’s words—

Curse his body for reacting to any little thing from Hawke.  _It was but one night_ , Fenris attempted to remind himself, and yet his heart still quickened as his mind unhelpfully reminded  _him_  that it had been unlike anything he had ever felt.

“We—I was wondering if you’d like to join us for a game of Wicked Grace. Sebastian,” here Hawke glanced over his shoulder with a pointed grin at the young prince, “does not wish to try his luck and we need a fourth.” When his eyes returned to the elf, it was all too clear, even to Fenris, how Hawke’s eyes softened as they looked at him. “So,” Hawke continued, his voice gentler now, taking on an unsure tone. “Can I count on you?”

It was on his tongue to decline. A quick and simple “no” and Hawke would leave him be; the man would not be insistent in his offer and, certainly, the others would find someone else to be their fourth. And Fenris was prepared to deliver the refusal, hands clenched tightly at his sides in sudden frustration as he looked away, lowered his gaze, and the soft chuckle from Hawke spoke enough that the mage understood that he would be turned down.

_Again_.

“That’s—“ Hawke began, but was cut short when Fenris replied with a quiet, almost tender, mutter of:

“I remain at your side.”

It hung there in the air between them like a confession that did not yet realize how heavy it was. Fenris found himself frozen in place, eyes widening as he schooled himself not to look up, hands a tight ball at his sides as heat traveled from the back of his neck to the tips of his ears. It had not been what he had intended to say, but there was little use now to try and recover – not when Hawke most certainly heard it.

As the silence between them dragged on, Fenris carefully chanced a glance up and caught himself, fingers uncurling as he took in the serene smile Hawke bestowed upon him.

Nothing else was spoken between them.


End file.
